More than once during the rapid journey, Arthur had half resolved
to turn back and not run the fearful risk of being recognized by
Richard Harrington, but the remembrance of Edith's mute distress
should he return alone, emboldened him to go on and trust to
Providence, or, if Providence failed, trust to Richard's
generosity not to betray his secret. He heard the uncertain
footsteps in the hall, and forgetting that the eyes he so much
dreaded could not see, he pulled his coat collar up around his
face so as to conceal as much of it as possible.
"Mr. St. Claire? Is there such a person here?" and Richard
Harrington had crossed the threshold of the door, and with his
sightless eyes rolling around the room, stood waiting for an
answer.
How well Arthur remembered that rich, full, musical voice. It
seemed to him but yesterday since, he heard it before, and he
shrank more and more from the reply which must be made to that
question, and quickly, too, for the countenance of the blind man
was beginning to wear a look of perplexity at the continued
silence.
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